


Some Veil Did Fall

by OffWhiteWarden (orphan_account)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (tbh its more regency themed than a regency au), Alternate Universe - Regency, Canon Trans Character, Carver Hawke/Sebastian Vael is implied, Circles aren't shitty in this, F/F, F/M, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Magic still exists, Multi, Polyamory, Slow Burn, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-11 04:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4421351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/OffWhiteWarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the disgraced mage son of Lord Trevelyan, Beckett has always been kept at arm’s length from aristocratic intrigue. It is only after the death of his father that he returns home, to find he has inherited Skyhold Hall; a house in Frostback County he neither needs, nor wants. </p><p>Under the guidance of Miss Montilyet and Lady Leliana, Beckett attempts to assimilate back into polite society. But his attempts to fade into obscurity by being as unnoteworthy as possible are complicated when, at the ball he is forced to attend, he meets two remarkable people. Cassandra Pentaghast, a woman who gave up claims to the Neverran throne to serve in the Chantry Military, and Cullen Rutherford, commander of a Free Marcher naval fleet.</p><p>EDIT: Basically abandoned, sorry</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Beckett Trevelyan’s first thought on seeing Skyhold Hall, for the first time in twenty years, was that it was ugly. Hideously so. It looked like somebody had picked out elements of architecture they liked, then pieced them together into a patchwork monstrosity of a building. It looked wrong, the battlements too low to be used as actual fortifications, the outhouses too small for practicality, the tower that stood alone in the courtyard too narrow for furniture. It was trying to be both a military construction and a noble home, and failing at both. 

His second thought was that he wanted to curse his father for leaving it to him.

It wasn’t because he disliked his father, although that was certainly true. It was what the inheritance of it meant, how it had changed and would change him. He was no longer Beckett, Assistant and Student of the First Enchanter of Montsimmard, but Lord Trevelyan of Skyhold, an upstanding member of the landed gentry. And the idea, frankly, revolted him. He’d left the family home at the age of seven, to be trained in the art of magic, and there had been little contact between them since. A letter had arrived at the college when his mother died, and then a second when his father passed on. Despite his noble origins, Beckett had no idea how to be a noble. And he was not looking forward to the learning process. 

The carriage jolted as it drove up the gravel pathway to the front door. Next to him, Miss Montilyet smiled at him, shifting slightly on her cushion. Her writing board rocked forward dangerously, the fact the candle was unlit all that saved the carriage from unfortunate immolation. Beckett tried to smile back, but he knew even as he did so that it did not reach his eyes. 

“How does it feel to be back home, my Lord?”

Home. Yes, this place was home again. Beckett shivered, he felt uncomfortable as he turned it over in his mind. 

“It is-" he paused, thinking of what was proper to say and what he wanted to say. He decided on a half-truth. “Strange.”  
Miss Montilyet nodded. “I imagine it must be. You have been away from the estate for so long. Honestly, I barely knew you existed until I looked through your father’s paperwork. And barely any other nobles in the Frostbacks did either.” She paused, looking at him pointedly. “I was rather surprised to find you were legitimate.”

Beckett forced himself to laugh politely. 

As the carriage came to a juddering halt, Miss Montilyet, placing the board under one arm, pulled an extraordinarily frilly handkerchief from her sleeve, giving a soft cough into it, thick eyelashes fluttering as she did so. After she hastily stowed it away again, she looked back at Beckett, smile even wider than before. A servant pulled open the door nearest her and she slipped out, ducking so as not to hit her head on the very low roof, beckoning for him to follow her. 

Once Beckett had done so, almost losing his balance as he landed on the uneven stones, she turned, so that her back was to the dreary grey buildings. “Well, welcome home my Lord.”

Beckett swallowed a growing lump in his throat. “Thank you Miss Montilyet.”

“Please, it’s just Josephine.”

“Well then, thank you Josephine.”

“It is my pleasure”, she turned back to face the main hall. “Shall I give you a tour?”

“I would be delighted, Lady Josephine.”  
\--  
“As you might have guessed, the Belfry is mostly for show. There is a staircase, but it is far too narrow for comfort. I have heard a story that a previous lord used it as a rookery, though I cannot be certain that is true.”

Skyhold Hall was both larger than Beckett remembered, and much smaller. He had not walked its halls since boyhood and, as a result, they were much more narrow, the ceilings a lot lower and the twists in passageways far less numerous than he remembered. But it was also empty. Beckett had, not quite memories, but the ghosts of memories of the estate, filled with the sounds of the Lord and Lady Trevelyan’s vociferous brood. He had heard that his brother served in the halls of a merchant prince, whereas his younger sister had joined the military. She had been given the command of a substantial amount of men and, prior to the discovery of the contents of their father’s will, fully expected to be the one to inherit the house. And yet here he was, alone in a house far too big for him. 

He paused by a window, the rays of the midday sun seeping through the slightly stained glass, a coloured shadow pooling on the stone slabs. The window overlooked the gardens, rows of low shrubs standing sentinel over unkempt lawns and beds of kitchen herbs that he did not know the names of. Beckett could see the wall at the end of the garden, where the worn Iron Gate that lead to the tower was. Josephine must have noticed he had paused, because the echo of footsteps in the narrow corridor stopped for an instant, only to start up again, getting louder with each step. She stopped beside him at the window, but Beckett did not turn to look at her, instead concentrating his gaze on the garden in front of them. 

“My lord?”

Josephine’s voice was still business-like, but Beckett felt he could sense a twinge of genuine worry in it. He sighed, the tension in his shoulders braking, and ran a hand through his black hair. 

“It’s…. not what I remembered.”

“-I’m sorry.”

She sounded genuine and something in Beckett clenched. Pulling himself away from the window, he gestured for them to continue walking. Josephine seemed to take the hint.

“Should I show you the library, My Lord?”

“I think that would be an excellent idea.”  
\--  
The library was cool, even as the July sun burned outside, light coming into the room from a single window. It was open, the cool breeze wafting in through, red velvet curtains tied up on either side. The room was large, like the rest of Skyhold, but far less empty. Almost every inch of wall was covered in bookshelves, dust gathering lightly on many a cover, and the wall that was not had wood panelling, stained dark. Beckett noticed his footsteps did not echo and, looking down, noticed the rather worn red carpet. Long ago it might have been patterned, but it had been worn away by many feet. 

Josephine walked ahead, stopping just in front of a desk in the middle of the room. She carefully placed her board to the side of the desk, then slid into the tall leather chair behind it, gesturing for Beckett to sit down with her.

As he sat, sinking into the plush cushion, she lay back slightly, shoulders rolling slightly as she relaxed. “Lord Trevelyan, there is a matter we must discuss. It concerns the estate.”

Beckett shuffled nervously in his chair, hands grasping onto the ends of the chair arms, even as his own arms were stiff. “If it’s about the fact it’s falling apart, then I already noticed.”

Josephine’s lips pulled into a smile that did not reach her eyes. “That’s not even the half of it I’m afraid. We are incredibly understaffed. There’s only a cook, the butler, a stableboy and two housemaids. While there aren’t many people residing in the Hall, that’s still quite a low number for such a large estate. And- well there is one other thing that requires your attention.”

She pulled her writing board back into the centre of the desk, flipping through the papers on it until she found the right one. Then she turned it, so that it was facing Beckett. 

“We are... in debt. A lot of debt.”

He swallowed. “Who to?”

“The Lord Magister of County Frostback.”

Beckett’s response was a series of words most unbecoming to a gentleman of his position.


	2. Chapter 2

The newly ascended Lord Trevelyan’s first night at his estate was, in a word, awful. He had retired to bed early, intending to take a long rest after his journey to Skyhold Hall. Instead, he awoke some time in the early morning to the feeling of something wet against his skin. Sitting up in bed, his eyes taking a few moments to adjust to the dark, he noticed a soft drumming against the stonework outside his window. 

_Wait a-_

He groaned, somehow fighting the desire to never leave the warm bed and pulled open the curtains that boxed around it, slipping out into the cool night’s air. The window on the opposite end of the room was, as he expected, open. With a groan, he pulled himself up, gripping onto the bedposts as he searched the cold stone floor for his slippers, wincing as his toes brushed against the slabs. The chilled air was bracing as he took a few steps to the window, fighting the fluttering curtains to push the window shut, the panes quivering slightly as he did so. 

The room would warm up eventually, but his excursion from bed had ruined Beckett’s appetite for sleep, the chill waking him just enough that returning to his dreams would take quite a while, and a lot of effort. Turning around, he noticed the faint glow of an oil lamp on a small wooden table by the door, the dim light allowing him to just make out the outline of his dressing gown, sitting where he had discarded it that evening. Beckett’s footsteps echoed in the empty chamber as he walked over to it, pulling the gown on over his bedclothes. Fingers grasped tightly, almost too tightly, like he was expecting it to jump out of his hands if he gave it the opportunity, Beckett lifted the lamp off the table, the other hand pulling at the door, until it opened with a foreboding creek. 

The frayed material around the moth eaten holes rubbed against his skin quite uncomfortably as he walked, the garment shifting with his movements. The estate corridors felt different in the dark, each sound a threat, each obstacle a hurdle. Reaching forward with one hand, hoping his fingertips would press against anything in his way, Beckett thought that it was like walking in a totally foreign environment whilst blindfolded, and not at all like taking a stroll in one’s own home should feel. Well, one’s own home for now, he murmured, too quiet for the words to be audible. He continued his journey down the corridor, taking a moment to pause by a window. The herb garden was too dark to make out any details, but beyond the wall, Beckett could see the first quarter moon. The tower obscured it slightly, the hulking tall figure blocking out a large chunk of the sky. But he was at just the right angle to see it, only a small corner covered. Pausing for a few moments, he stood at the window, looking past the water droplets forming on the glass as best he could, and simply watched. And then he heard steps. They were from further down the corridor, so the person they belonged to probably was unaware of Beckett’s presence. Beckett looked down at the lamp in his hand. Unless they saw the light. 

By daytime, Beckett would insist he was not a superstitious man. But at night, in the dark where he could not tell friend from foe, there was a very different story. And, although he was not certain the figure was a ghost, Beckett’s mind immediately jumped to the conclusion that he was in danger. He was still close enough to the glass for his now heavy breath to form a thin layer of mist on the pane as he looked around, trying to find an escape. Almost directly across the corridor lay a door, one that did not seem to have a lock. Taking the largest strides he could, Beckett approached it, the oil lamp sliding slightly in his sweaty palms. Grasping the door handle with his free hand, he pulled down, and the door opened. Beckett did not wait for it to fully open before slipping into the room, pushing the door closed behind him, before hunching against it. He let out a quiet sigh of relief that the door had not creaked, closing his eyes as he did so. It was only as he opened them that he noted the foolishness of the situation. The figure was probably a servant- maybe that stable boy, as Beckett had not yet seen him. And here he was, cowering like an idiot in a-

_Where was here._

Beckett’s eyes took a few minutes to grow accustomed to the dark, darting around the room in the meantime. He made out the shape of something on the floor first, jumping slightly, startled as a flash of lightening illuminated the room through the small window on the far wall. 

And then he realised what the object on the floor was. A small wooden box, with a handle on the top, that was, many years ago, converted into a makeshift dollhouse. Beckett shivered, looking around the room again and noting the distinct lack of cobwebs, bile rising in his throat. He shivered, despite the dressing gown around him. Despite his previous assertions that the figure in the corridor was simply a servant, Beckett waited a few minutes, somehow remaining almost perfectly still as he leaned against the door, breath heavy. 

It was still dark by the time he made it back to his room, but Beckett slept only lightly, and for a brief time, that night. 

\--  
Despite the significant amount of land that Skyhold Hall and its surrounding estates took in the County, it was not until the second week of Beckett’s tenancy that he received his first invitation to a social event. It was early morning, before breakfast, and Beckett was sitting in the pavilion by the lake, the shadow of the tower to the East providing a cool shade. The light summer breeze made small waves dance on the lake surface and Beckett gave a contented sigh, breathing in the smell of the freshly cut grass- something he’d put the stable boy, Cole, to do the past week. 

He was so enraptured by the scene before him that he barely noticed Josephine walk up behind him. 

“My Lord, we have received an invitation.”

Beckett half turned to look at her over his shoulder, resting more of his weight on his palms. The grass rubbed against his cuffs, and he knew that it would be stained. “Where to?”

The writing board bobbed slightly as Josephine lifted up the first few sheets of paper to draw out an envelope. The cream paper was delicately torn open at the top, although Beckett had never seen Josephine with a letter opener. Sitting down beside him, her movements somehow managing to stay graceful, she held it out to him, placing the board on the grass beside her. She did not wait for him to open it, clumsy fingers pulling the letter out, to explain what it contained. 

“Lady Leliana has invited us to tea this afternoon.”

Beckett raised an eyebrow. “Should I know that name?”

“Probably. Although given your-”, Josephine hesitated, Beckett suspected to find the most diplomatic phrasing, “ _extended residency_ in Montsimmard, it is understandable. She is well established in County Frostback. And an old friend. It would be wise to attend this meeting. We need all the connections we can get, and she is a good place to start.”

“Alright. Where should I be and when?”

He was so used to Josephine’s efficiency by now, that it did not surprise him that she had already made arrangements. 

“The carriage will be ready to take us to Nightingale House at around one. Although, My Lord”, Josephine glanced down at Beckett’s cuffs, her nose wrinkling just slightly.

“Yes?”

“Please change beforehand.”  
\--  
Nightingale House was the polar opposite of Skyhold Hall. Where Skyhold Hall was large, far too large for a single occupant, a monster of stone and brickwork, Nightingale House was small, and perfectly formed. And incredibly threatening to visit. Beckett could not suppress a shiver as he walked through the main doors, Josephine’s arm wrapped around his, his footsteps on the marble floors echoing throughout the entrance hall that led to the main staircase.

“Miss Montilyet! It’s a pleasure to see you again”, came a voice from up the stairs, and Beckett stopped in his tracks, waiting for the owner of the voice to come into sight.

Upon first sight of her, Beckett thought that Lady Leliana was much like her house. She was a beautiful woman, elegantly formed and slender. Her red hair seemed even brighter against the lavender round gown she wore, and Beckett thought that she reminded him of the women in the paintings the college in Montsimmard hung on its walls. The round, soft silhouette gave her an air of innocence. But something about her gave Beckett the sense that the opposite was true. And he couldn’t put his finger on what.

Josephine dropped from his arm and gave a curtsy. “Lady Leliana, it is my pleasure.”

Lady Leliana gave a small smile, only the corners of her mouth twitching. Then she turned to Beckett. “This is him, yes?”

Josephine stood up and nodded. “I would like to introduce the Seventeenth Lord Trevelyan, of Skyhold Hall in Frostback County.”

The pale green coat that Josephine had selected him would not have been his first choice. Indeed, he often avoided the colour, believing it to look drained out against his dark brown skin. But, given their financial situation, he acknowledged that his options when it came to clothing were limited. Leliana looked him up and down, her gaze cool. Beckett got the sense that she could ruin his reputation with a few well-chosen words, or have him killed without as much as a blink. And he wasn’t sure which was more terrifying. He shivered again, despite the warm sun that the large front facing windows let in. 

Finally she looked back to Josephine. “If you two will come this way, I believe the table has been set out for us already.”

The aforementioned table was, to Beckett’s surprise, not in the dining hall. It was, instead, in a summer house just to the South of the main building. The grass on either side of the path they walked, despite being short and tended to, seemed to contain a multitude of crickets, their song loud. Josephine walked just ahead of Beckett, arriving at the pale blue building first, letting him mimic her actions. While she had given him tutoring in the manners of polite society since his arrival, he was not entirely sure of specifics, and so welcomed the guidance. Leliana sat at the table first, gesturing for her guests to sit too. 

She reached for the teapot first, taking the strainer at the same time, before pouring it into her cup, a delicate affair, in pale green and white. The silver teapot seemed to gleam in the summer sun, and the matching sugar bowl likewise. Lifting them delicately with tongs, almost in a calculated manner, she added two cubes of sugar, before pushing it towards Beckett and Josephine. Beckett poured for himself and then for Josephine, feeling rather like a mouse being toyed with by a cat. He reached for a Sally Lunn bun, trying to distract from the awkward silence. 

Josephine spoke first. “I hear you attended Miss Adaar’s Ball last week. How did you find it?”

Leliana snorted. “It was a dull affair. Not like the parties we used to attend, Josie.”

 _‘Josie’_? Josephine had no given an indication of knowing Lady Leliana quite so well when she announced the invitation. Yet Beckett would feel awkward to interrupt the conversation given that they were so familiar. He sat in silence, listening to the conversation change to dancing, to music to fashion and then back to balls again. Leliana was an enigma the entire time, both open and closed, her words revealing much about her, yet nothing at all.

“You two know each other well, I presume.”

Josephine and Leliana turned their gazes to him, Leliana smiling at him for the first time, her Orlesian accent becoming slightly stronger as she spoke. “Yes. I was a diplomat for Orlais. When I arrived in County Frostback, Josephine organised a welcoming ball for me at Skyhold Hall.”

Josephine interrupted. “It was not my best. I had just taken the position at Skyhold, you see, and was unused to-"

“You do not give yourself credit Josie.” Leliana’s voice was soft, but her tone firm as she placed her cup back on its saucer. “The ball was well organised, and the Late Lord Trevelyan a most welcoming host. Thought I must say”, she paused, looking pointedly at Beckett. “That he never mentioned having two sons.”

Beckett swallowed. “I was… not in my father’s good graces.” He was unsure how much to tell her, but Josephine’s trust encouraged him to give half the truth. “I was sent to the College in Montsimmard at a young age.”

Leliana’s eyes flashed with understanding. “Ah. Were you perhaps then acquainted with Madam De Fer?”

“She was my tutor.”

She took another another quick sip of her tea, then nodded. “I hear she may be visiting the County next week. Of course, it is only rumours at this point, but given that Lord Pavus is holding a ball, I suspect they are true.”

“I had not heard of this Ball”, Josephine interjected. “Are you sure the invitations are-“

“Not yet. You will probably receive one this coming Saturday. Lord Pavus consumes as much drama and gossip as he can get his hands on, and a newly ascended Lord is perfect for that need. Not to mention”, Leliana waved a hand towards Beckett, “the rumours of your _financial situation.”_

Beckett opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. Leliana glanced at him again, her eyebrows rising slightly, and Beckett was sure she took him for a fool. She continued. 

“It would be wise to gain contacts, connections. The Lord Magister does not back down easily, but I think it would be to your advantage to attend.”

She smiled, and Beckett thought her teeth resembled the bones of some small animal. 

_“Should I call for more tea, Lord Trevelyan.”_


	3. Chapter 3

Somehow, Beckett remarked as he walked into the ballroom, Josephine had managed to find money for new clothes for this reception. It was understandable; his normal clothes would not hold up here, the light of the crystal chandelier in the centre of the room would show up any holes beautifully. And the mirrors around the room, framed in what he suspected was real gold, would mean they would be observed from every angle. But he still felt a pang of guilt at knowing that it was exactly this type of behaviour that had caused him to be in such a precarious position. Josephine’s grip around his arm grew tighter as several heads turned to look at them, gazes filled with minacious curiosity. 

The room was nearing full and the ladies were just starting to fill out their dance cards, the old dowagers sitting to one side, glaring at the crowd. Moving forward, Beckett was suddenly aware of being quite small, the room becoming a veritable monster of sound and colour. He swallowed, and was certain that his hands started shaking under the white gloves.  
Josephine must have noticed, as she pulled him aside, leading him to the seats near the dowagers. Unlinking their arms, she guided him to sit. Beckett was still shaking as he sat in the chair, the plush seat cushion pulling up the back of his coat. She glanced sideways, to make sure they would not be overheard, then spoke. 

“I am assuming that you do not have much experience with balls.”

Somehow, Beckett managed to give out a nervous laugh. “How could you possibly have guessed that?”

He received a polite chuckle in response. “I would advise you to find several people to dance with. If you ask, they cannot refuse without forfeiting the right to dance with anyone this evening. If they ask you, you must say yes. We cannot afford to lose potential alliances. Of course, do not neglect those who may be in the gardens, or playing cards. And do not dance with the same partner more than twice, do not forget to change shoes if you go outside and make sure you play no more than three games of ca-”

“How does anybody get anything done with so many rules?” 

“That is the idea. They don’t have anything that must be done.”

“Incredible.”

“Joke all you want, my Lord, but it is vital you stick to the rules. One wrong move could mean a scandal, ruining us. Be careful.”

A voice came from behind Beckett. “Miss Montilyet is right. The balance is very delicate and it is crucial to play the game by the rules.”

Beckett near jumped out of his seat, turning to look at the intruder, noting that the tail of his coat was still crumpled from being sat on. He blushed, reaching behind himself to quickly straighten it, as best he could. Then he turned back to Lady Leliana. Her lips were almost pulled into a smirk, one that let Beckett know she knew exactly how much she frightened him. Even then, wearing a soft pink monstrosity of a dress, covered in more ruffles and ribbons than Beckett could count, she terrified him. And he was inordinately grateful that she was on his side.  
Lady Leliana chuckled, then spoke. “From what I hear, my prediction about Madam De Fer was entirely correct. It would be wise to solicit her for a dance later. And, on that note,” she looked away from Beckett and at Josephine, reaching out a gloved hand to her. “Miss Montilyet, would you care to dance with me?”

Josephine flushed, and Beckett was certain that it was not because of the heat of the chandelier or the too crowded room. 

“I would be honoured, Lady Leliana.”  
\--  
He had tried to take Josephine’s advice into consideration, he really had. It was just that the people he asked to dance with all had full dancing cards, and those that he had not asked, he had not been introduced to. So he had retreated to the balcony, the cool summer breeze wafting the scent of the flowers in the garden. He could still hear the band playing, but it was muted, the walls muffling the sound slightly. Elbows resting on the hand rail, sighing softly, Beckett looked over the edge of the balcony into the dark gardens. His attempts to socialise had, so far, failed miserably. On the next balcony over, he could hear a pair of gentlemen gossiping loudly, about how somebody had danced too many time, and then something about an Admiral, and then something Beckett did not understand a word of. 

He pulled away from the balcony, guiltily noticing that there was a small black stain on his blue coat, and turned to enter back into the building. The corridor was narrow, the panelled walls making it seem even smaller. Beckett could just about hear his steps, the walls between him and the ballroom still muffling the sound of the band, although it was louder with every step. He made it about half way down the corridor, before he stopped to think. There was a strong possibility that, by now, there was a dancing spot free. And yet, he was still hesitant. 

The decision was made for him as a loud noise erupted from a room just to his left. A loud noise that sounded vaguely like the words that Beckett had once spoken aloud after accidentally setting fire to his hair during his training, and then been disciplined for. He smiled, then turned into the room. Three heads turned to look at him as he entered. 

The room appeared to be a library, or at least had walls covered in bookshelves. A sofa lay to the far corner of the room, but Beckett only briefly glanced at it, before looking at the table in the middle of the room and the three people around it. They glanced back. It took about a minute of silence, their hands holding cards still, before one of the people at the table spoke. 

“Well don’t just stand there. Get a chair and come join us.”

“I… well I suppose it couldn’t hurt.”

The woman sat at the table laughed, and Beckett was certain she was an Admiral, although he had never known an admiral to take part in such frivolities. But, from the jacket she wore, dark blue wool with gold thread cuffs and epaulets, he could make no conclusion other than she was indeed an admiral. “And that, sweet thing, is how addicts start.”

Beckett paused, unsure of what to say. 

The man next to her, in a similar uniform, but lacking epaulets, tsk-ed, but let out a chuckle all the same. “Stop teasing him, Isabela.” 

As Beckett reached for a chair, pulling it up next to the third person at the table, the two continued.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Normally it is.”

Beckett turned to the man beside him. “Are they always like this?”

The man chuckled and gave a soft. Unlike their two companions he was not wearing a uniform, but something about him gave Beckett the impression that he was a soldier. It could have been the way he held himself, something in his gaze, or perhaps a combination of these and many other things. But Beckett found himself unable to name specifically what told him. 

“Most of the time”, his voice was light, yet mellow as he extended a hand. “Lieutenant Aclassi. These two are Admiral Ladrón and Sir Hawke.”

Beckett shook his hand. “Lord Trevelyan.” 

The name came out smoother than it had before, Beckett having gained some sort of familiarity with it, although the title still felt somewhat strange. 

“You must be the person that the entire party is talking about then”, the Admiral’s voice was playful and Beckett squirmed in his seat. 

“Miss Sabrae would be most displeased to hear you talk in such a manner, would she not”, Sir Hawke murmured, a smile on his face as he reshuffled the cards. 

“And your wife would be most displeased to know you were playing cards with me in a backroom with no chaperone”, she looked down at the cards in his unfashionably dark gloves. “What are you doing?”

“Reshuffling. We have a new participant.” He gestured towards Beckett.

The Lieutenant snorted. “Are you certain that the motivation behind restarting is that, and not your extraordinary losses?”  
\--  
True to Josephine’s advice, Beckett made sure to play only two games, during which he discovered several things. Firstly, that Sir Hawke was married to another admiral, Admiral Vallen, who was somewhere in the main ballroom. Secondly, that the Lieutenant had no land of his own, and was currently residing in the residency of his captain, before their next deployment. And thirdly, that the evenings he had wasted away in the tavern near the College in Montsimmard had not been quite so wasted after all. Sir Hawke, in what Beckett suspected was another attempt to save his dignity, asked him a most precarious question right before the end of the second game.

“How many dances have you had this evening Lord Trevelyan?”

Beckett answered truthfully. “None.”

The Admiral lifted up a hand to her mouth in a display of shock that was most certainly fraudulent, her gold earrings swaying as she did so. “What a tragedy!”  
Sir Hawke nodded solemnly, “We must amend this.”

Beckett was not given a chance to respond before he found himself herded out of the room, unsure how the pair managed to make him stand from his chair, and into the ballroom. If it was crowded earlier, he did not know how to describe it now, people packed together so that the colours of their garments almost faded into each other, the room a swirling mess of colour and sound and heat. He was too entranced by it to notice as he was unceremonially placed in front of a woman. She was tall, red hair pulled into an up-do, wearing the same uniform as Admiral Ladrón. 

Sir Hawke coughed, and the woman turned towards him as he placed a hand gently on Beckett’s shoulders. “Lord Trevelyan, I would like you to meet my wife, Admiral Vallen.”  
Admiral Vallen’s facial expression softened. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Trevelyan.”

“The pleasure is all mine.”

“I was wondering if you knew of anyone with no dance partner. He has not found one for this set.”

The Admiral smiled, turning to the side slightly, introducing the person next to her into the conversation. “Lady Pentaghast, by chance, was just looking for one.”

Turning his attention to Lady Pentaghast, who he found was wearing a uniform that was undoubtedly a military one, he found he did not recognise it. The red coat was covered in black piping, but her buttons and epaulets were gold. She looked back at him, short hair, aside from a braid, pulled back. Her lips twitched slightly, but her face still bore what was essentially a scowl. 

Beckett felt his heartbeat quicken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I missed last week's chapter. I'll try to get two chapters done either this week or next week to get back on schedule


End file.
